


One-Shot Collection

by PinkLion7



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV), More to be added later - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AUs, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, Fluff, I will take asks, M/M, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, SO MUCH FLUFF, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-18 14:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21662551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkLion7/pseuds/PinkLion7
Summary: The title says it all. A bunch of (usually) cute and fluffy one-shots and drabbles. These stories will all be one chapter long, with every chapter being stand-alone. Tags say which ships are featured. I will take asks or prompts for a certain ships for this collection, so this is sort of an ongoing thing. Also, there will most likely be multiple chapters featuring the same ship (all unrelated), just because I love them so much.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Keith/Lance (Voltron), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), More to be added later - Relationship, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Kudos: 6





	One-Shot Collection

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place before John ever meets Mary, so she and Rosy will not be mentioned. Neither will Moriarty or Sherlock's "suicide." A relationship is already established between John and Sherlock, but only if you really squint. There will be no lemons. In this fic, Sherlock has a bit of a cold, and John is there to help him.

It was a peaceful snowy day outside 221B Baker Street. There were couples walking, cars commuting, everyone was enjoying themselves. That is, everyone except Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

"John!" He croaked from where he was stretched along the couch, wrapped in a blanket. From inside the kitchen came a great, long-suffering sigh and John stepped out.

"Yes?" He asked. Sherlock knew he had very little patience left for such games, but as usual, he didn't care.

"I'm dying." He pouted dispassionately, hair sticking up in all directions.

John rested his hands on his hips, looking remarkably put-out.

"You are not dying. You have a cold. Go back to sleep, I'll wake you when the soup's done." Sherlock blinked at him, sneezed, then rolled right off the couch and onto the floor.

"John," he wailed quietly.

Out of spite, John left him lying there for a minuet while he turned down the stove to a simmer.

"I really do think that I am dying," he said as John heaved him back up on the couch. _Overdramatic git,_ John thought.

"Maybe you wouldn't be dying if you hadn't spent all night outside running around, gotten on a proper sleeping schedule, and ate something for once!"

"Hmph," he said, and rolled over. John shook his head and went to his computer.

Snow was still falling softly and John was still typing on his computer when Sherlock woke up again.

"John?" He jumped at the sudden noise and turned to look at Sherlock.

"I'm cold," he coughed.

"Of course you are." John shut his computer and grabbed the blanket off of Sherlock's bed. Then after that was settled, he reheated the soup and spooned some into a bowl for him. Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't complain or turn his nose up when John plopped the bowl and some medicine down on the coffee table in front of him. It was a miracle. John got his own bowl, turned on the telly, and sat down heavily. It had been a long week.

Sherlock had come down with a minor cold two days ago, and had been 'dying' since then. Before that, they'd both been wrapped up in a case involving the Maltese government and a beloved cat. Mrs. Hudson had been spoiling Sherlock rotten whenever John was out, and evidently he expected the same from John.

The telly was showing yet another bland game show and John was nearly asleep in his chair when Sherlock called to him again.

"John?" His name seemed to make up half the words in Sherlock's mouth today.

"Yes?" _If tells me he thinks that he's dying again, I swear to God..._

"Come over here." John blinked, but grudgingly got up.

"Y'know Sherlock, it wouldn't kill you to say-" he was cut off as Sherlock reached one lanky arm arm up out of the mound of blankets and used it to tug John down on top of him.

"Please stay." John felt Sherlock's breath on top of his head.

The couch wasn't made for two grown men and what must have been six blankets, but John stayed there anyways. And after a bit of maneuvering, he found it was almost possible to ignore the fact that more of him was off the couch than on, or that Sherlock's elbow was poking him in the stomach, or that his hair was tickling John's cheek. It was easy to simply lie there, listening as contestants won various sums of money and watching as gray shadows drifted across the wall. It was very easy just to fall asleep.


End file.
